


Victoria Street

by Alexandria (heartfullofelves)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Community: mini_wrimo, F/F, Magical Realism, POV First Person, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfullofelves/pseuds/Alexandria
Summary: An unnamed woman has unusual recurrences on an ordinary city street.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Victoria Street

I first saw her on the lower end of Victoria Street, by the bus stop outside the cathedral. Her blue bustled skirt was unmissable and her elaborately styled black hair belonged to a previous century. I assumed she was on her way to the museum. But when I blinked, she disappeared.

A month later, I was walking down Victoria Street again, strolling past all the food places. My stomach rumbled as aromas of garlic and tomato wafted out of the two adjacent Italian restaurants. As I crossed the street to the next block, my heart jumped – there was the woman. This time her entire costume was black, as if in mourning, and she held up an umbrella. I frowned, because there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. Her brown eyes widened as we passed each other, and I knew she had seen me; the hairs on my arms stood up. When I looked back, she was gone.

I played that scene over and over in my head for weeks afterwards. The woman was so striking and out of place that I decided she must be a hallucination. But when she didn’t appear again for a whole year, I relaxed; I wasn’t going crazy. My memories of her faded.

It was just after sunset on a Saturday evening in November. I didn’t feel safe walking on my own, but I didn’t have a choice unless I wanted to wait another hour for the bus – and waiting in the dark was much worse than walking. The street lamps on Victoria Street were bright enough that I could see where I was going, but I was still a woman walking alone at night, so I kept my phone in my hand and stayed alert.

When a figure walked towards me, it was the impeccable posture I noticed first. My eyes widened as I recognised the woman. Her tailored jacket and dark knickerbockers made me smile – my mystery woman was a suffragist. I pocketed my phone and stepped into her path.

She gasped, then reached out to touch my shoulder. “You’re real,” she whispered, though I didn’t feel a thing.

“Of course I’m real,” I said, frowning.

A sad smile crossed her face, which was now lined. Before it had been smooth and youthful. “I thought I was going mad, seeing flashes of this woman from a future era,” she said. “But I can’t be mad, can I? You _are_ real.”

I bit my lip, thinking. “What do you mean, flashes from a future era?” As far as I was concerned, _I_ was the one who’d had flashes of a woman from another era.

“Madam, I was just walking down the street as usual when you appeared, dressed like _that_.” She eyed my T-shirt and jeans. “And then you disappeared before I could be sure of your existence. I didn’t tell anyone for fear they would lock me up.”

Glancing at our surroundings, I asked, “What does this street look like to you?”

“Well, it’s a wide street with many shops. There are gas lamps to light one’s way. Oh, and there is the railway crossing,” she said, pointing to an intersection controlled by traffic lights. There were no train tracks. She turned back to me. “Is that what you expected to hear?”

I shook my head and kept shaking it. “You said you didn’t tell anyone about me. I didn’t tell anyone either – not even my girlfriend, and I tell her everything. Maybe I should have said something, because my brain is clearly messing with me.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “My… _lover_ is a woman.”

Her eyes shone, and she stepped closer. “So is mine,” she whispered with a smile she couldn’t contain.

I smiled too, because I had the feeling she’d never told anyone before and might never tell anyone again. I clasped her hands, not knowing what to say. But she spoke first.

“Thank you,” she said. It was the warmest, most grateful thanks I’d ever heard. I knew exactly why she was saying it.

“What year is it?” I asked her, remembering my impression of her as a suffragist.

She said, “1894.”

Smiling, I squeezed her hands. “Thank _you_.”

The kiss she pressed to my cheek conveyed that she knew what I was thanking her for. “You are most welcome.”

The wind picked up then, a great big gust typical of this time of year. I winced and pushed my hair out of my face. By the time I could see again, the woman had gone into the night.

I started walking again, into the wind. The loud sound of a vehicle braking behind me made me look over my shoulder. It was a bus, and one that would take me close to home, so I jumped on, choosing a seat near the back in order to see the road better in the dark. The bus ride was quiet, with only five other passengers.

A month later, I got a new job in a different part of town, so I almost never walked up or down Victoria Street anymore. One time I did, holding my girlfriend’s hand, and I thought I saw the swish of an old-fashioned skirt out of the corner of my eye. But somehow I knew that even if I turned my head, I wouldn’t see her.

I squeezed my girlfriend’s hand and kept walking. She didn’t notice a thing.


End file.
